Page 172 of The Last Good Man

It doesn’t matter what I say––especially what I say. Nothing will make her change her mind.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she says, pointing to the toilet.

“Be my guest,” I say, heading to the door, filled with disappointment for her and me.

31

MELODY

I exit the restroom, convinced I need to call it a night, and just go home.

A few steps separate me from the corner, and I’m about to steer left when a dark silhouette coming from the opposite direction swiftly blocks my retreat.

He snakes his arm around my waist and nudges me away. We’re not stopping at the restroom door.

Instead he pulls me into a different corridor and presses my back against the wall.His hand comes to my hair, and his lips hover over my ear.

“What are you doing here, baby? What did I tell you?”

My hands are propped against his chest as I need a moment to reflect.

“Why are you here?” he asks again.

Is he mad because I’m here with Emile?

Or is he mad because I’m where he was supposed to spend the night with his friends and that pretty brunette?

Both can be true.

I tilt my head back, seeking his beautiful, dark gaze.

There isn’t much to see asvery littlelight filters through a cracked door, but even so, satisfaction glints in his eyes.

He’s not mad.

He enjoys having a reason to punish me.

“You left my things with that woman,” I say quietly.

A soft smile tilts his lips while he drags his finger down my cheek and grips a strand of hair.

“You wanted me to come inside and broadcast you were with me in that alley? I thought you wanted to keep it a secret,” he says, playing with my hair and tickling my lips. “You got your things,” he argues.

“Yes, I did.”

“And then you were supposed to go home,” he breathes on my lips.

“And then––“

He doesn’t say whatever else he wants to say about me not doing the right thing when I wind my arms around his neck, he pulls me into his chest, and small explosions thread through our blood as our lips become a cauldron of fire.

We kiss, forgetting the world we left behind.

I don’t care aboutthe conversation I had with Joanna, and he’s not interested in punishing me anymore.

We kiss in a small, dark space, risking being caught by someone working here or by that woman who has taken it upon herself to poke her nose into my business.

Soft moans climb up my chest as I greedily want more, the not-so-friendly voice in my head warning me I’m losing it too soon, offering myself on a platter.

---